Wednesday, May 24, 2017

A Poem

She smelled like rainwater and clove cigarettes. Her thin whisps engulfing mine offering a brief reprieve from the iron weight of apathy. Of being a disillusioned 20-something in a town somewhere in the middle of the world.

Possessing my body with the fury of junk-sickness cells change and die. Organs and germ layers dissolve into vapor as I melt into her. I am now a bystander transfixed by on-coming traffic. Distracted by pretty things... I suppose pretty things are usually the most venomous.

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